Of Crimson Treachery And A Moon That Glows Silver
by LuigiGirl-22
Summary: Banquo's Murder. "Fleance watched with eyes, burning with both sorrow and rage, as his father clawed frantically at the ground in an attempt to push himself off the ground and run for the sake of his own soul..."


**Of Crimson Treachery And A Moon That Glows Silver****  
**-**  
**_[_**Banquo's Murder**_]  
(_**Macbeth **_by _**William Shakespeare**_ ~ Act III, scene iii)  
_Context by _Sparknotes_: **No Fear Shakespeare** – _**Macbeth**_**  
**-  
[**Author's Note**] _When Banquo was murdered, it was never described as to how he died – or with what weapons. For the simplicity of this scene and not wanting to get too complicated, I used daggers with the mention of an axe._

The night was slowly beginning to fall asleep, bidding the earth goodnight as two silhouettes lurked among the forestry, as silent and as sound as a cat stalking its prey – a scurrying mouse with an empty stomach and massive appetite, on the hunt for sharp cheddar, ready to pounce. The crunching of leaves alerted the crows that danger was present. They scattered, screeching into the night air as the sound of feet pounding on hard, solid ground drew closer, and the sound of heavy breathing from man forewarned ravenous intentions. Ravens, too, followed suit and took off into the cold air, its home invaded by strangers. An owl's bright, amber eyes glowed, hooting at the villains, informing that if they neared, many branches in the naked tress – stripped of leaves by the ferocious wind – kept a mother's hatchling's safe and high out of grubby human fingers. The moving shadows came to a halt, as if to listen to the owl's warning that mother birds were nearby, and were willing to have their beaks crushed and wings broken to ensure the wellbeing of their young, and the owl made sure they were well aware of that fact, continuing to keep intense watch just as a guard dog does for their master.

Two men, heavily disguised by dark clothing, stray twigs, and torn leaves, hunched over to catch their breath – of which, they could visibly see as white fog that faded into the chilly air. The wind nipped sharply at their earlobes and their cheeks reddened, stinging slightly in pain.  
The first man turned, eyes twinkling. "If you ever bite your thumb at me again, I'll make sure you'll have no thumb to bite. I'll saw it off with my blade. You make too much noise when you run."  
After catching the reaction of his partner, he turned back, staring ahead into the black that welcomed their bodies and sins.

He then shushed the murder of crows as they flew back to their nest, remaining scattered in great numbers among the branches that indicated that autumn was quickly coming to an end – more swiftly than the average human being thought. It would take a man a great deal of observing to notice that winter was coming rather quickly, unlike the many years before where winter arrived rather late in Scotland.

"Hail the king."  
The first man turned back to look at his partner, his eyes sleek. The other nodded, patting the sheath to his sharpened dagger proudly, with a smirk.  
"Ay, for bestowing such an honour upon the both of us." The second man's eyes widened as the sound of heavy feet began thudding steadily in his ears. They both spun around as the other heard this, too – the same set of heavy feet approaching, before the moonlight that hung in the sky dimly lit the newcomer's face. He was dressed just like the other two, panting in exhaustion.  
The first man raised an eyebrow, frowning in suspicion at the man who had come up behind them, fully emerging from behind the peeling bark. The other, who crouched behind him, hesitantly followed suit.  
"But who told you to come here and join us?"

The third man who had just arrived straightened himself up, his voice low, a grin showing plaque-encrusted teeth as his face lifted mischievously. He showed a facial expression that slowly brought laugh lines and wicked intentions to life, being brought forward into the moon's gentle, white light.  
"Macbeth."

The second man stepped forward, placing a grubby, muddy hand on his comrade's shoulder.  
"We can trust this guy. He was given exactly the same orders we were." He gave an appreciative nod towards the newcomer, his partner still bearing the suspicion on his numb face. The third man, of rotten intentions just as much as the other two, flinched, grimacing as the scepticism from the eyes before him bore into him, suddenly awakening anxiety within him – like surprising, sudden pain from a stray dog's teeth, piercing through freshly scabbed wounds; its invading tongue licking at open flesh.

There was no mutt. However, he felt like one among the other two – entirely out of place, due to his late arrival. His heart skydived as he looked up, growing lightheaded at the beauty of coloured streaks, showing pastel colours of yellow-orange, bright pink, and light violet. He was not on time like the others, but night had not yet arrived for its daily embrace with earth. But the moon was there, having fully emerged from beyond its hiding place that the sun hid safely.  
**  
**The first man stepped forward, raising his head slightly to look the new arrival in the eyes, his glare bearing pointed daggers that were as sharp as the one that he carried.  
"Then stay with us," he whispered softly. "There's still a bit of daylight in the sky. Now all the late travellers are hurrying to reach their inns. Banquo is almost here."  
Anticipation and excitement caught all three of them like a fast-spreading, highly contagious infection. Night had fully entered, watching the earth sleep as the stars peeked out from their hiding place, like small, knee-high children – quiet and shy around their parents, but unafraid to be themselves when around others their own age.

The third man's ears caught sound of what sounded like diamonds falling from heaven, plummeting and crashing into the wet ground below.  
"Listen!" He shushed them. The others froze, eyes widening. He nodded to himself, slowly, recognizing the heavy pounding as the rhythm of a flawless gallop of a horse, hooves pounding into the earth. "I hear horses."

"Hey, give us some light here!"

The three men gasped, numb hands and bony fingers preparing to accomplish their duty as the voice, calling in the distance, alerted the six ears, waiting with held breath – lungs feeling although they were about to burst.

"That must be him," the second male whispered. "The rest of the king's guests are already inside."

"You can hear his horses moving around as the servants take them to the stables!"

The third, all-knowing, spoke next, whispering quietly into the night as the pounding of horseshoes came to a slow and peaceful patter; heavy footfalls from afar coming to a halt.  
"It's almost a mile to the palace gate, but Banquo, like everybody else, usually walks from here to the palace."

The other two fell into a silence. A deafening anxiety that haunted their bones as anticipation fled to their hearts, pounding wildly in excitement. The owl's unblinking eyes moved slowly, just as sunflowers turn their faces to the warm sun, watching carefully as Banquo approached, appearing as nothing but a silhouette illuminated by the gentle, flickering glow of his torch that had started to shrink as night progressed.

"Here comes a light," the second cried excitedly, his feet shuffling against the earth, ready to run as swiftly as lightning met the ground during a storm – a flash, and then gone, leaving the land stunned by its quick visit.  
"Here comes a light!"

The men observed closely, as another shadow came up beside him, shorter in height and smaller in stature. And then, they knew – a sudden realization, before grins spread on their faces as easily as butter on bread.

His son, Fleance, had been accompanying him.

"That's him." The third mumbled calmly, his chapped pair of lips forming into a grimace, eyes sparkling brightly as the image of the king's face began invading his mind, which had begun numbing with greed, running his tongue over his trembling lips at the thought of a reward for their deed.

"Prepare yourselves." The first muttered, as he drew his weapon. This was more than biting one's thumb at another... This was _murder_. A crime. And they were all preparing for it,

The men crouched, all three of their unshaven bellies touching the cold ground, their clothing becoming sodden and saturated as soon as fabric met the mud beneath them; and beneath their clothing, flesh trembled and consciences were rid of good intentions. The devil had arrived, possessing their bodies with strength and sinking its fangs into the throat of the consciences that, at one time, infected their entire beings with guilt.

There was no room for guilt and regret. No, not this time. Not now. Not when Banquo and his son were so close that their bodies began to ache with lust for wrongdoing. Not when they had been waiting in the night, silently, like children still wide awake in bed on Christmas morning before their parents rose from slumber.

Banquo raised his head, his voice deep and possessing authority just as a prophet would. He then spoke to the smaller body, passing on his wisdom of the strength of wind and the movement of clouds.  
"It will rain tonight." He said, giving the sky another glance before continuing their march. His son muttered something inaudible, that only he himself could hear within his throbbing eardrums.  
The first murder grinned wildly, like a bobcat, with bright eyes shimmering in the dark, teeth ready to sink its teeth into the neck of its prey.  
"Then let the rain come down."

Banquo's heart jumped as three cries that screamed mutiny, misconduct, and murder deafened his ears as he unconsciously tugged anxiously at the horse's reigns without a second thought. A cold bead of sweat dripped down his neck, past the valley between his shoulder blades as he urgently panicked, glancing quickly toward his son, who, in return, looked back – watching his father pulling harshly as the horse's reigns in a command to turn around and take a different route. The horse whinnied, hooves scuffing roughly at the ground below in bewilderment at the shouts and cries of those approaching, and also in response to the surprising, unexpected command from its rider.

"This is treachery!" The scream burst forth from his body, its sharp claws tearing and scraping at his throat as it pushed from his vibrating vocal chords. Fleance stared in alarm, and then Banquo found himself falling heavily onto his back into the sodden ground with a loud _thump_. He raised his head slowly; pain biting his neck sharply like the sudden pinch of a dirty needle injecting a vile drug into his bloodstream. His eyes widened in terror at the sight before him. The cries came closer as feet trampled the grass, sweeping quickly as the glinting edge of drawn daggers smiled at him menacingly. He then found himself discovering that his horse, spooked, had thrown him off the saddle and onto the ground below.

"Get out of here, Fleance! Run… _Run_!" His eyes swept from the attacking men, to his son, and back again. Fleance watched his horse flee from the scene, galloping at a fast pace, away from the scene, like a violent wind through the naked branches in the trees.  
"Run, you bastard, **RUN!**" Fleance broke out of his state of fear, an icy embrace that had paralyzed him to the bone. His mind frantically spun as he imitated his father's actions, tugging on the reigns to the horse he had been riding, beginning to gallop away as he watched the three shadows become men, crowding around his father in his desperation to escape.  
"Someday you can get revenge!" Was the last thing that Fleance heard from his father before a strong chain of obscenities fled from his mouth, beyond chattering teeth and quivering lips. Fleance watched with eyes, burning with both sorrow and rage, as his father clawed frantically at the ground in an attempt to push himself off the ground and run for the sake of his own soul, but failed tragically as the first man pounced on him, sending him crashing to the ground again as a chorus of snickering, jeers, and tortured screaming split the air in two uneven fractions as the first man's dagger was driven forcefully into his head, right into his cheek, piercing through flesh as the taste of strong blood and rusted iron fell onto his tongue.

Again and again, Banquo was struck, continuing to violently shriek as steel met flesh and flesh met steel. He kicked and thrashed with all the strength that he had left in his body, despite it quickly fading. The third murderer held him down forcefully, grinning manically, looking like a monster that had been hiding in a child's closet as the other two continued spearing his head with their weapons as his vision began to blur. He began to choke on his own blood, which had begun dripping past his lips; bubbling as he sputtered for air as it thickly dripped past his chin and stained the ground. What had belonged in his body and brain was now staining the mud below him.  
Then, suddenly, something large had been forcefully wedged into his scalp, embedding into his skull. An axe for chopping wood. He wailed again in excessive pain, as blood ran down his scalp, trailing down the now-torn skin of his face and staining his blonde locks of hair a deep, foreboding vermillion as the rich colour leaked into his eyes. **Blood**. Blood was entering his vision, mixing with the tears of immense pain that streamed past his cheeks that now clung to dangling flesh that had been severed by weapons. Crimson-bathed flesh now hung desperately on to the shape of his face, screaming to be stitched back into place.

Then, darkness. Blackness swarmed his vision as quickly as honeybees darted to their hive. Pitch blackness, as fate welcomed him warmly, with sharp, glowing eyes and open arms as the manic laughter of the violent intruders began to fade.

The monster named fate fully embraced him, smothering him as his choking stopped, blood continuing to violently spurt forth from his deep, stinging wounds. The monster's eyes, boring into Banquo's very being, gave him one last glance with emotionless eyes. He began observing his blood-drenched clothes, and more importantly, his face that was now completely shattered. His teeth were no longer as white as pearls, but were now stained with the colour of bright red. His jaw had been entirely dislocated, and blood continued leaking beyond his mouth, spurting violently as he coughed for oxygen. The axe still remained embedded into his scalp which had cracked into the bone marrow of his skull only moments ago.  
The monster blinked once, only once, upon seeing the sight of the victim's face in its entirety. What had been glued together by God while in his mother's womb was now torn and split, leaving flesh open that had been previously blanketed by white flesh. His skin hung desperately, crying and wailing for a surgeon's intelligence and quick hands to tend and readjust his face back to proper order.

Banquo's eyes twinkled before the beast, almost as if he knew it was to be expected to happen. Furthermore, deep within those emerald eyes that were the colour of sprouting lily pads in the blooming springtime, something else was amiss in his frantic mind.

He knew he was attacked for a reason.

The creature, growling softly and brooding above Banquo's entire being, finally covered him completely – kissing him softly, death strongly among his lips. What had been hanging over him finally breathed into him, infecting the two oxygen-deprived organs as the string to his life was suddenly snapped by the hands of fate.

The murderers watched as his breathing stopped, a last choke that fought for breath as their victim's head turned to the side, lifeless. His body twitched one final time before it gave up; surrendering to the monster called death that showed up at any given moment, to any individual – sometimes having its visit almost expected, and sometimes not.

The third murder scrambled to his feet, coughing, staring at the two men and a bloody Banquo, now successfully a corpse.  
"Who put out the light?"

The first murder, who also took a silence and a gaze towards the bleeding man below, questioned him, "wasn't that the best thing to do?"

The third looked in the direction that the other person that was previously with him had fled, shaking his head slowly in failure. "There's only one body here." He looked into the man's face, eyes glinting as the night grew calm again, before hesitantly informing the other two, who were too busy earlier with the task of pinning the Banquo down to abuse and mistreat as the third had watched the son flee in horror.  
"The son ran away…"

The second man blinked, gazing at his hands, now drenched with blood as the dagger slipped out of his fingers. He carefully tip-toed over to the result of their deed and kicked the corpse in the side for good measure. Something crunched in his body. A rib.  
"We failed in half of our mission."

There was a small silence as the three men exchanged glances, all six eyes emotionless and blood-splattered faces expressionless. They all grabbed their daggers, saying not a word as they continued to exchange small glances with the result of their ultimate sin – a dead, lifeless body that had been fighting for life.  
The first man's stomach churned nervously, giving his best and bravest nod to the other two as he began walking away, leaves crunching under his heavy footfalls.  
"Well…" He paused, taking a small breath as he heard the others follow his direction closely behind. "Let's get out of here and tell Macbeth what we _did_ accomplish."

As the men continued their journey through the thick wood back to the palace, the owl stuck its head out beyond the crooked, twisting branches, eyes glowing dimly as the bird watched them leave. It ruffled its auburn feathers, turning its head slowly, before its wings spread and it took off into the chilly air, soaring beneath the moon's sparkling glow that was now shining even more brightly as it began to remember the bond that both Macbeth and Banquo shared, before he had taken a turn for the worst. A transformation of what appeared to be a very noble person to a man of greed and intense paranoia, willing to corrupt the earth and any person who, he felt, stood in his way of obtaining power.

As the moon gazed sympathetically down at the earth, the remembrance quickly transitioned into mourning as it stared restlessly down at Banquo's corpse that lay there motionless – cold, bloody, and robbed of its life.


End file.
